


The Courtship of Princess Thayet

by Lisafer



Category: The Song of the Lioness - Tamora Pierce, Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Getting to Know Each Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-29
Updated: 2014-10-29
Packaged: 2018-01-27 01:22:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1709837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lisafer/pseuds/Lisafer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During the months between Thayet's arrival in Corus and the epilogue of Lioness Rampant, two people fell in love while dealing with events much larger than them.  This is their story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

~Prologue~

Autumn, Port Caynn, 434 H.E.

Prince Jonathan _loved_ being a knight. If he had a choice—right at that instant, as he walked around the temple district with his closest friends—he would choose knighthood over his destiny. Being the heir to the throne had perks, certainly. And being the king of the greatest nation in the Eastern lands would be a thrilling honor. But after three weeks of travel with his friends, enforcing the law with words and sword rather than creating laws in council meetings, Jon decided that royal privilege wasn't what it was cracked up to be.

"So what was Aunt Lianne's message about?" Gary asked, pausing to rest at a fountain honoring Kyprioth, the god who controlled the winds of the nearby Emerald Ocean. He stretched long legs in front of him and slumped over, leaning his large body onto the even larger Raoul. "Ugh, I'm beat," he groaned.

Jon sat on the bench across from them, Alanna at his side. She'd been quiet on this trip--perhaps due to her fear of being identified by their friends? Raoul and Gary were not aware that Squire Alan was a girl. She’d kept up the charade for years, but he knew it was harder when they were away from the palace.

"Mother's still looking for a suitable princess." Jon rolled his eyes. At times like this, he wished more than ever that he wasn't an only child.

"Who's in the running?" asked Raoul, his voice dry and uninterested. He, too, had a matchmaking relative who never missed an opportunity to force young noblewomen upon him.

Jon counted on his fingers. "One from Galla, two from Maren, a duchess from the Copper Isles--"

"They're all nutters," Gary smirked.

"—some minor nobles from Carthak, and I think that's it." Jon frowned. He was forgetting someone.

  
"Don't forget the infanta from Tusaine, or the Saren princess," Alanna said quietly.

"Bested by your squire," Raoul chuckled.

"Again."

Jon kicked his friends lightly. "Actually he's wrong. The Saren girl has been ruled out. Mother says there's bad blood in the family."

Raoul snorted. "If the Wilima clan has bad blood, what do the Rittevons have?"

Gary eyed his friend shrewdly. "A spice monopoly."

"It doesn't matter," Jon said, standing. "Mother will have her fun until I am ready, and _then_ I'll consider her choices."

"And choose the prettiest," Raoul added.

Alanna scowled. "What does prettiness have to do with being a future queen? Jon has to choose the girl who will best suit the throne."

"And part of that suiting-the-throne idea includes giving Tortall enough children to secure the Conté line," Gary said with an air of scholarly dignity. The image fell apart with a wolfish grin. "And she's got to be a pretty little thing, if Jon's to get his end of that bargain."

Jon felt his face flush with heat. And he wasn't the only one—Alanna was preparing to counter Gary, but in whose defense, Jon wasn't sure.

"Let it go," he whispered through clenched teeth.

Raoul smiled at them both and punched Gary on the arm. "Don't mind him, Alan. He doesn't mean to belittle Jon or womankind—he just knows that he'll have to live vicariously through the prince when it comes to getting _attractive_ women."

Alanna chuckled lightly. Jon was glad that her anger had passed; he didn't quite like that it had correlated so neatly with his own discomfort.

~~~

Rachia - Spring, 436 HE  
  


Thayet was to be introduced—formally—to the court that evening. She felt silly in her gorgeous blue gown. There were more flounces than she’d ever worn in her life, and its dangerously low neckline made her blush. But this was how she would be introduced to the lowland nobility. She would’ve felt more comfortable in the leggings and long tunics that K’miri women wore.

"You should wear your hair in braids," Buri scowled, flipping her hunting knife over repeatedly with one hand. "Then maybe your father's people will remember that you're too young to be married off."

Thayet frowned softly at her ornery companion. "Maybe among the K'mir I'm too young--I haven't proven myself as a useful or productive clan member. In Father's world, this is the _only_ way a woman is useful."

"Your father is an idiot," Buri snarled. "He cares more about _his_ power than _your_ happiness."

Thayet shrugged. "He's a _jin_ Wilima. Maybe all of us are bred to care more about politics than people." She fingered the arch of her nose, lost in thought.

"Thayet," Buri said forcefully, making the older girl's eyes widen in surprise. "Politics _is_ people. Your father and his people believe that politics fall between nobles and royals and maybe merchants—laws to be passed, decisions to be made. But _you_ will rule someday, and you have to be better than him. Remember that laws are not just made as means to an end, but to affect people in the process."

Thayet looked down at her friend's face for a long while. Buri was wise, even though she was only eleven. "You're right," she agreed solemnly. "But I will never rule over anyone. You should return to your clan, so that _you_ might lead one day. And I will go on and marry some duke or prince or warlord, and teach my sons to be good rulers."

 “I hope you marry a prince from some other country.”

“You would have me leave Sarain and never see you again?”

 “I’d go with you,” Buri replied, shrugging. “Or, instead of marrying some stupid nobleman who doesn’t know the difference between a donkey and a mule, you could simply run away, and we can explore the world together. Isn’t that much better than being locked away in a palace wearing flouncy dresses?” 

Thayet frowned, smoothing her bodice with both hands. “I like this gown.”

 “Fine – we can explore the world together while you wear stupid dresses.”


	2. Chapter 2

Corus, 439 H.E.

It was nice to sleep in a bed again – a real bed, not some hard and smelly bed in a roadside inn, like the ones scattered from Roof of the World to Corus. House Olau had luxuries, and they were the sort of luxuries that Thayet hadn’t realized she’d missed.

After arriving in Corus, she had been whisked into Sir Myles’s house and properly fed and bathed and fawned over by the knight and a woman simply introduced as Mistress Cooper – George’s mother, perhaps? And then she was offered a room of her own, and she fell asleep quicker than she could whisper a prayer of thanks to the Goddess or the Horse Lords for offering such kindness in strangers.

But sometime later she was awakened by a gentle kneading on her stomach. Faithful. She pushed him away groggily, wishing she could go back to her dreams. She had been with her mother, learning K’miri war-chants. Instead she was licked by a coarse and smelly tongue.

  _It’s time to wake up_ , the meows seemed to say.

She rubbed her eyes and peered through the gauzy curtains. The moon was still visible through her window; only a few hours could have passed. “It’s not even morning yet,” she said to the cat, stroking him from head to tail. “You should let me be.”

_You’re the one who’ll miss out_ , he seemed to reply.

She rolled over in the bed, burrowing under the lightweight covers. But she wasn’t able to fall back into her dreams. He had awakened her far too thoroughly.

Thayet tried all the normal tricks: burying her head under her pillow, counting backwards, recounting the entire history of Saren warlords—nothing worked.

“Perhaps a drink of water will help,” she said to Faithful as she climbed out of bed and wrapped her dressing gown over her nightshirt.

_Or a cup of tea_ , Faithful replied. She looked at him closely, studying him.

She had heard Alanna talking to Faithful on many occasions, and had even wondered if she understood his mewing responses. But this was the first time Faithful had so clearly spoken to her. “The K’miri would consider worshipping you,” she told him, shaking her head.

_All cats should be worshipped_ , he said almost tartly. He slipped out the bedroom door, his tail flicking behind him.

“Do you think all cats are as clever as you?” she asked, following him.

_They certainly should aspire to be._

Thayet laughed lightly and continued to follow him. She was twisted around in the house; there were far too many corridors, and she could never keep her bearings in large houses and castles. Was he leading her to the kitchen, or to the library?

He rounded a corner and she followed, but stopped short when she saw Alanna and George with someone else, all raising their glasses in a toast. “Oh, I’m sorry!” she cried, clutching her robe to her throat.

“Great Merciful Mother!” the stranger whispered. He looked thunder-struck.

Thayet looked to Alanna, who was barely masking a grin. “Faithful woke me up, and then I couldn’t sleep.” She clutched the dressing gown even tighter and tried to hide her toes under her hem. She meant to turn and leave, but George pulled her gently into the library.

“We’re havin’ a bit of tea,” he said. “There’s a seat by the fire—over next to Jon.”

Thayet blinked as she walked to the seat next to the fireplace. Jon? As in, the king-to-be? She knew he was a friend of Alanna’s, after all the conversations she’d overheard on the voyage from Udayapur with Sir Raoul. But she had not expected to meet him some random evening when she was in her nightclothes.

He took the hand that was not glued to her dressing gown and brought it to his lips. His gaze was direct, and he seemed to be searching for something in her own expression. She was overwhelmed by the blueness of his eyes, the beauty of his face. When she realized what he was doing, she yanked her hand away quickly. “We haven’t been introduced.”

She could hear Alanna choking behind her, trying to contain her giggles. Fighting the irresistible urge to kick her friend, Thayet looked to George imploringly.

“Thayet _jian_ Wilima, may I present Jonathan of Conté? Are you officially ‘King’ now Jon, or does that wait until the coronation?”

“Does the introduction meet your standards, your Highness?” His voice was as dry as her own had been. She found herself liking him a bit more, despite her annoyance with being treated as royalty.

“I am ‘Highness’ no longer, your Majesty,” she said, frowning as she curtsied. “My father is dead, and I am in exile. I hope to become your Majesty’s low-born subject.” She bowed her head.

From the side of the room, Alanna sighed. She sounded so wistful and forlorn that Thayet glanced at her and lost her balance. The girls giggled uncontrollably while George shook his head. He poured a fourth drink, and handed it to her, again offering the seat next to Jonathan.

She relaxed as soon as she tasted the tea. It wasn’t too sweet, as she had discovered Tortallan and Maren tea to be.

“I was tellin’ Jon and Alanna,” George said, “It’s Copper Isle Red Griffin. Never had anythin’ quite like it, myself.” “It’s wonderful.” She drank her tea and listened to the others, thankful when they invited her into the conversation. She felt very much the outsider, listening to them reminisce and share stories about mutual friends she didn’t know, save Sir Raoul. But the king-to-be was attentive, and on several occasions she looked up to see him gazing thoughtfully at her.

He was certainly easy to look at. She’d seen her share of handsome men in her time, but none quite like him. He looked confident – just shy of arrogant, perhaps, though she would save that assessment until she knew better. Plenty of arrogant, beautiful men had managed to hide their flaws in the past.


	3. Chapter 3

Jonathan paced in his study, ignoring the new stack of papers that required his signature. He hadn’t realized that his ministers worked on so many documents – each week seemed to begin with a stack that kept growing. He was sensible enough to realize that this was one aspect of his position that would not change over time. Even if he delegated his responsibilities, creating committees to look into all his concerns, they would still need to be approved and signed by him.

It was a shame that Gary was so honorable, given that he could forge any signature he ever saw.

Jon missed days of leisure. His last trip out of the capital had been to the Great Southern Desert, and even then he had gone with the intention of proposing marriage to Alanna and becoming a Bazhir. Both, he had thought, were needed for his eventual reign. When had he last gone anywhere for fun? Did being a Conté mean that life would hold nothing wonderful in store for him? Was his future simply to marry and have as many children possible while he was chained to his desk?

He’d meant what he’d said to Gary – he fully intended, once the coronation was over, to explore every inch of the realm and meet every person he could. He would not demand that his subjects come to him, the way they always had in years gone by. He wanted a new kind of monarchy. A new kind of Tortall.

There was still the issue of marriage, though.

A part of him had hoped that upon seeing Alanna, the passion would resume. He still loved her, he knew. But it was different. The pang he felt upon seeing her so comfortable with George – a different kind of comfort, he could tell – was much milder than it should have been. He was jealous, of course, but he was more jealous that George had the ability to follow Alanna wherever she ran.

Princess Josiane seemed to be the only eligible woman at court, to make matters worse. When the king was alive and in good health, Jonathan had been a catch of a prince. Ladies had stormed the palace, looking for a chance to become the crown princess of Tortall. But now there were few monarchs who lovingly brought their daughters to his court. They would wait, it seemed, and see what kind of stability he offered as a new king. 

There was also the possibility of choosing a Tortallan woman, but that required careful planning. His nation already appeared to be on the verge of civil war – choosing someone from Elden, for example, could enrage the northern nobles. He didn’t need more opposition within his own borders.

But Thayet’s arrival changed things. She was suitable. And he suspected she was intelligent and patient and resourceful, if she was able to travel with Alanna to the Roof of the World. There was much more to this Saren princess than met the eye. What met the eye, however, was certainly pleasant to behold.

He moved quickly to his desk, pulling out a new piece of parchment. He quickly penned a short note to Alanna, suggesting that they introduce her, Thayet and the Dominion Jewel at court. It was time to show his adversaries that he meant business. And it was time to test the waters of the people – what would _they_ think of a Saren princess as a prospective queen of Tortall?

A knock interrupted his thoughts. 

“Jon, I have more reports for you to review,” Gary said, holding a large stack of papers.

Jon groaned. 

Dropping the papers on the edge of the large desk, Gary grinned. “Are you thinking that perhaps I should tie a bell around my knee, so that you can hear me coming, and will have time to scamper off? I assure you, my father suggested the same thing years ago, and I told him that I’m clever enough to remove the bell – so it won’t work.”

Jon couldn’t help but smile. “I’m glad you’re the acting Prime Minister, Gary. You’re among the few people who can make me smile these days.”

 

Gary plopped down unceremoniously into one of the three chairs in the room. “Be sure to mention that in my eulogy some day: ‘Of all the amazing things Gareth the Younger was noted for, the most impressive was his ability to make his king smile.’ You could also note my impeccable moustache.”

“Indeed!” Jon agreed with a laugh. “And do you think that you will still be known as Gareth the Younger, and not as the Duke of Naxen?”

“Did you not hear? My father says he’s too busy for the Black God to find him. I doubt that will change in the next fifty years.” He prodded the reports. “You really do need to take a look at those, though. There’s trouble, Jon.”

The light mood that had lifted Jon’s spirits so thoroughly dissipated. “More assassinations? Or perhaps another deceased family member has returned?” He scowled, picking up several pages from the stack. 

“There will always be more assassination attempts,” Gary said with a small frown. “Did you know that there were five different attempts on your father’s life?”

Jonathan shook his head. “These are the things they need to teach heirs. The first was made on my life when I wasn’t old enough to suspect the horrors of the world, after all.”

“Raoul’s keeping busy with the Own,” Gary said after a moment’s pause. “They’re recruiting, and they’re questioning applicants much more thoroughly than ever before. These men have to be loyal to you more than to their purses, after all.”

“Maybe we should pay them more, so bribery is less effective.”

“Jon, bribery is always effective, so long as someone wants more gold than they have.” He rested his feet on the chair next to him. “Can we speak of something more pleasant? Did you see Lady Cythera’s gown last night? Mithros, she’s lovely.”

“You should tell her that. You’ve been mad about her for years.” Jon dropped the report after skimming the first page. Gary had been right; it _wasn’t_ good news. 

“I’m getting there,” his cousin said, looking sheepish. “But thus far we’ve danced twice and had one barely remarkable conversation about The King’s Own.”

“And if I recall correctly, she was asking your questions about its Knight Commander.”

“Thank the Goddess that Raoul has no interest in marriage.” Gary scowled. “If he steals Cythera away from me I’ll never forgive him.”

“You know,” Jon began, smirking, “I don’t think something can be stolen from you if you have never possessed it.”

“Have you heard the rumors about Alanna and the Shang Dragon?” Gary countered, smiling nastily.

“I was more concerned about the rumors that tied her to the King of Thieves, several months back.”

“And you’re not concerned now?”

Jon shrugged. “I don’t have time for romance.”

“You’ll need a queen eventually, Jon, unless you’d like even more chaos upon your death. The Dunlath clan should be happy, at least, if you have no heirs.”

“What about Sarain?”

“What about it?” Gary asked, blinking. “It’s in shambles, from what I hear. The last warlord was killed, I thought. Or maybe just imprisoned? Either way, _Zhir_ Anduo is in charge now, and he’ll probably make it even worse.”

“Alanna brought the princess with her. Princess Thayet.”

Gary eyed him shrewdly. “Have you met her?”

“Last night,” he replied with a nod.

“And?”

He nodded again. “It’s possible.”

“But you said you don’t have time for romance.”

“Romance might have time for me.”


End file.
